Letters to Marceline
Letters from Nico Petrikov to his ward, Marceline. From Treehouse First Letter Memento ut obliviscantur. Dimentichi di ricordarsi. Marceline, I still don't know who or where you are, but I still worry for your safety. I'm in the city of Austin in Texas, a region of the United States of North America. I still hope one day you'll find me and all these letters. Maybe you don't remember me either, but my eyes still well up with tears whenever I think about you. The Wardens finally released me to the custody of Thornwatch. While I'm no longer behind bars, I'm still imprisoned. I'm trapped living at the freehold here until I solve the murder of a Thornwatch Captain. Then I'll be better able to search for you, but I'd remain stuck with no leads. Without memories or details beyond your name, goblins are no help and I don't know where to start! I fear you may not want me to find you, but if so please tell me, and if you already have and I've forgotten, I beg forgiveness but please tell me again! This is just all the more reason I have to find my crown, get my memories back, and then destroy the infernal thing! -Nico Second Letter Hinumdumi nga kalimtan. Makalimot sa paghinumdum. Marceline, there are strange things afoot in Austin and again I fear there are eyes in the darkness upon me. The Ace of Spades feigns the fool to hide his iron fist. He speaks in lies and pleasantries so thick I cannot tell if he seeks to cover up blood or only appear to be doing so. In searching for the truth I've unfortunately set The King of Blades against his heir-apparent jack, but they are used to being at odds, this dance of theirs well-practiced and graceful. I've been performing myself at 6th Street here in town. The guitar mostly. It's brought me closer to some allies of mine, but I do not know for how long. There are so few people here I can trust. There's so far only been one I could trust all of the time, the others fluctuate too much, but I'm still not telling her everything. Truth is saddeningly dangerous, and I wouldn't want to see someone undeserving thrust into whatever rabbit-hole this murder investigation is dragging me into. -Nico Third Letter, Destroyed Marceline, I've been lied to. This place becomes more volatile to me the longer I stay here. Am I not done? I've caught the killer; I know the motive and the means, and I've reported it all to the man who holds my shackles. How much longer will I be bound here? I feel the open air of the "freehold" shrinking around me. My prison cell felt more spacious, like I had more room to breathe. I'm losing myself, but not like last time. I had a series of panic attacks today which loosened my lips far enough to give the gravedigger the final nails in my coffin. I only hope they haven't figured it out yet, but surely they have. If they know what I am capable of, they will only see the worst in me. Not like you Marceline. You saw my shadows and you stayed in spite of them, even when Betty abandoned me, vile monster that I was. The executioner has seen his. If the judge makes this a trial for survival, I won't be the one on the block. Should I fail, and you found this letter without me, know I only feel Sorrow for treating you the way I have... I just want a quiet life rich with memories new and old, not my current life, fraught with danger and mystery. Maybe it just isn't in the cards for me. Still, I may feel better if I become truly hopeless instead of simply feeling that way. I hope you've found freedom, Marceline. I wish I'd find it soon. Without it I don't know what I'll have to do. With Sorrow, Nico Fourth Letter Marceline, I'm becoming more and more engrossed in the Captain's stories. Perhaps Dagger has worn off on me, but no matter what I find myself envious and entranced by his virtuous deeds. He was truly a great man, but in death he's transcended such a description. He was and is a hero. Still, despite my fervorous reading of his dossier and journal, I feel no more connected to the man. He is still a stranger, a faceless void, a character in a play I've read yet never seen performed, and yet I know more about him than I know about you. From an outsider's perspective you're both just words, letters set to ink, but I know you are so much more than that to me! I've finally had the ability to take steps towards finding you. The eyes on me have relaxed their stares into glances, so I move with newfound freedom. Some paths have been more successful than others, but all have been safe. The thought of finding you in any way that would put you in danger makes my stomach twist. I don't know what to do about the crown. I want it destroyed, but I want my memories back first. I need to know how to do those things but how can I learn without the crown in my possession? But if I have it and can't destroy it, what will it do to me? One of my prisonmates escaped. Slim Devil. He found someone here and made her a deal which wasn't in her favor. Now things are set right again, but Slim is still out there somewhere. It's so weird, the thought of him on the outside. It's still hard to picture. I worry for him and the Wardens chasing him down. It's an ambivalence I'm not comfortable with. Dagger may be getting out soon. I'd like her to become my neighbor, but it looks like that probably won't happen. Oh well. Can't wait to see you soon! -Nico Fifth Letter Dear Marceline, The captain left quite a legacy behind when he was taken from this world. Unfortunately he also left a share of loose ends which I recently inherited a strand of. You'd be proud of me, I think, if you had seen how I handled it all. Other than a friend suffering some minor electrical burns we walked away unscathed, in no small part due to my quick-thinking and ingenuity. I'm finally cultivating some happiness here, Marceline. I still long to meet you remember you, but I nevertheless feel compelled to have you knowing I'm getting close to being alright. My distrust of certain fellows has been exchanged for healthier interpersonal bonds. I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders. I feel somewhat free. I found a host of tortured souls in a house on the north side of town. I wish to help them, somehow. These spirits may be inadvertently hurting a friend's ward who I have been assisting in the caretaking of. I don't know what I'm doing, to be honest. Helping these people. It seems foolish and dangerous to outstretch a friendly hand towards the people here, but something about it brings a small measure of joy into my heart. It feels... undescribable. A good kind of undescribable. Outsmarting one of Thornwatch's most wanted to aid the liberation of an innocent captive, misdirecting feral hunters seeking a marque with mistaken identity, even playing backup guitar for a friend trying to build a musical career, all these things have me doing something I feel I'd forgotten how to do... smile. One person here has me smiling more than the others. The one that I trust. When you and I meet, I want to introduce the two of you. Happily, Nico Unaddressed Letter There once was an unscrupulous rogue lost in a land of asphalt and steel. His only goal was to find his home there, but he could not remember anything about it at all. He had returned to this land from another, which had taken from him all but his name, and even that rarely felt like it belonged to him. While he could not find his home, he had started to put together a new one. He had finally begun to build happiness and a family, although both were of unstable construction. He had regained his memory of how to smile, and he enjoyed it. He wanted his new family to smile as well, and so he set off through the land of asphalt and steel to find their lost happiness and bring it back to them. The rogue found the happiness of his friend the mermaid, and brought her to where he found it. Her happiness had changed shape since she had last seen it, and she could not recognize it anymore. It had grown into a man who had surrounded himself with people the mermaid did not know, and who she feared. When one of them drew their weapon, not understanding their friend belonged with the mermaid before them, the rogue regained another memory: Anger. Anger at being taken away from his home and Anger and being stripped of his old life. He saw the face of those who hurt him so in the face of those who threatened his new family. His Anger engulfed him, and he lashed out. He awoke, shattered and worn from horrible acts done to protect his new family. He tried to leave the acts behind. He found the happiness of another family member, the noble knight, but the knight could still not look the rogue in the eyes. They both knew why. The two sought the rogues redemption. They found themselves shaking hands with a smiling wizard. The wizard said a quick spell would whisk all their problems away. When questioned, the wizard said the spell was new to him, but he did not doubt its efficacy. In exchange, the wizard demanded something stolen from him to be returned. They set out on their quest. In the shadow of a cobra coiled to strike they found the thief and his patron. Leaving the thief to ponder his actions, they returned victorious, but the wizard had strange news. The spell had not worked the way he had planned. Now those looking to make the rogue pay for his actions saw his family as innocent victims needing their protection. While the rogue had wanted the eyes on his new home to avert themselves, it seemed they were staring harder than ever. Sixth Letter Dear Marceline, Things are looking up. I helped a restless shade pass on (that's strangely not code; it happened quite literally). I think I may have to help some more, but I'm afraid I lack the means to help them all at once, and they're somewhat caught together. I also was beset by several motleys of friends who thought they had uncovered the cipher to a code they definitely misinterpreted. I was able to explain the misunderstanding, which is good, since two of the groups were ready to attack us for very different reasons due to very different readings of the bizarre encrypted message. It was like a bad game of telephone where the original message made no sense to begin with. The other groups thought we either needed protection, direction, or help finding another group which doesn't exist. I think it's good advice to follow that if you're going to release a coded message, make sure the intended recipients have a decent chance of knowing how to interpret it. We were issued a formal apology and luckily walked away unscathed. It all happened after events transpired during a concert I put on. My guitar playing skills are improving, I feel. I wish you could have been there. I only found out after, but a motley in the audience had left unexpectedly and still hasn't turned back up. It's worrying, especiallly because of the allegations that it may be related to my work here in Austin. A local legend who also disappeared mysteriously years ago has turned up in the form of sent letters, revealing he too has a connection to the captain's murder. I'm still hoping this motley reappears in some form. While connecting them to my charge would be both terrifying and helpful, I'd rather there be any other explanation for their departure. The world would be less grim that way. The legend has a plan for wrapping up all of our work neatly, but the plan seems misinformed. It doesn't match our understanding of the situation, but at the same time doesn't conflict it. I simply have too little information to judge if the plane is hare-brained or not to want to have anything to do with it. The local expert on the situation and the legend are both unavailable right now, so I have chosen to wait. With a small pinch of time, understanding will come flooding in. My chains loosen, Marceline. If the man behind all this doesn't strangle me with them, I'm going to find someone or something capable of getting these letters to you! I hope you are safe Marceline. Perhaps one day I will redeem myself for not being able to keep you safe myself. Lucky Letter Seven Marceline, We've located what we were looking for, in regards to my endeavor here. We leave as soon as possible on an excursion to get it. I've been behested to do so, and while it will be dangerous, it very well may wipe my slate clean, freeing me from what restrains me here. It appears we may well be the second motley to vanish from the grounds in this pursuit, but at least we go prepared and at our own discretion. I don't know how long we will be gone. Our trip will be taking us far into the Hedge, to a place I know neither the name or location of. If you wish to find me, please wait at my place in the realm of mortals, for that is the first place I will recognize and return to once I set out. Who knows, maybe I'll find you deep in the Thorns, and I can finally know who I am to you. I'm a smart enough man to know not to get my hopes up. Truth be told, I'm not worried about this trip. A lot of planning and preparation is going into it all, and I trust my comrades with my life, as they have proven themselves to me and I to them over the course of far too many trials of gunpowder and flame. My confidence is well-placed since the Hedge reacts to your feelings in it, so my thoughts of our relative safety may just keep us safe for a little while. Our Knight has already planned for the maddening nature of the Hedge, setting up ready-to-deploy checkpoints in the Mortal World to be managed by our Asset. The Trustee and the Rogue are in charge of procuring modes of transportation for us and our goods, while the Voice and Forge have sprung to life to gather the sundries we'll require. The Cook will also be scavenging for foodstuffs while we're out on the trail. I have my responsibilites, which are rather small. We already had the vast majority of what we needed before we even started putting it all together, and the rest is being reimbursed to us by the Governor. I'm excited, though not too much so. This quest has a chance to create so much good for all of our kind in Austin, and I am no exception. I can't wait to write to you about how it all goes! Happy Trails! -Nico Eighth Letter Dear Marceline, This slip of paper carefully folded and housed in the envelope you hopefully found it is serves two important purposes. The first is straightforward: it is one of many letters I, Nico Petrikov, have written to you. The second purpose for this writing is a formalized contract between me and my newest companion, the size-changing feline named Demon Kitty, although he's made it clear he prefers Demon Cat when he is grown to the stature of a jaguar. DK and I have pledged the Companion's Boon Pledge to each other, with me as the primary actor and him the secondary. It's all a bit of legalese that means I'm the superhero and he is the sidekick, and our responsibilities to each other reflect such roles. Also, thinking of myself as a superhero is ridiculous and laughable, although the local bishop says if I talk about myself as such I will be subconsciously motivated to perform more good deeds. I digress. As the "superhero" it is my responsibility to provide a safe environment for Demon Kitty. My job is to help him feel a sense of security and to give him respect. As the "sidekick", Demon Kitty is tasked with representing "domesticated" and intelligent Hedge Beasts in a positive light, as an ambassador of sorts. He must remain loyal and stand by my side whenever I need him. We are companions now and we have to look out for each other. If things don't work out, we part ways. I think you would like DK, Marceline. He's an adorable little furball when he's tiny. He's already learned he can get away with sleeping on my shoulder. He thinks so innocently then. When he's full-grown he becomes an impressive mount with an air of maturity, although either way he's good for conversation. He's a pescatarian, so outside of goblin fruit he loves fish. I had bought him some Fancy Feast when I found out he'd be coming to the Hollow, and you'd think I had taken him to a five-star restaurant! Still, it'll be an adjustment process to have him around, but it's nice knowing I'll have someone watching my back in particular when we're out on our road trip. The way the oracle I spoke to talked about it, I may very well need it. The Blank Page "Nico Petrikov you're under arrest-" The purple-haired man stopped himself. He could no longer hold back the cackles of laughter, though his posture and the staff he pointed at his prey remained rigid. "Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you're not! I didn't find you way out here where no one else would care to look to bring you in!" "Kirchevskoy! You bring this band of thugs out here to rough me up over some jailhouse grudge?" Nico gritted his teeth. It was about time this happened. He had sealed this fate the second he provoked a monster slayer who "felled fallen gods" with his bare hands. "No, Ice King, I'm here to reclaim the honor my order lost when it started letting creatures like you live!" As the Warden's staff began to warp the world around them, Nico noticed the tattoo of a trench art crown around his slayer's wrist, and then all the world was a blur. An oak became a war axe splintering in half a stout woman clad in armor made from Humbaba leather. A dragonbone mace shattered against diamond skin as an emerald lance pierced the cleric's heart. Fire and water mixed in a whirlwind launching a Valkyrie into a den of Thorns. The Ice King stood clad in the barding of his domain, the Warden's head hanging loosely from the purple hair the King clutched in his hand. The Warden stared at the King, anger and happiness merging on his twisted, bloodied face. "Now they know, Nico. Now they see you as the monster you are! Not just your so-called friends, but the Wardens too. You've killed one of them, and they will hunt you down for this! God Save The King!" 723. "Tick-tock, Nico." The twisted Austin skyline pressed against the raging fires of sunset, vines of Thorns coiling around each and every building. The Bombshell Mannequin was in pain, it's dull metal body barely holding together, but it knew it still had time to waste. Nico was panicking, his eyes darting between the two grisly sights. At his left was Merrow, Basset, and Liberty, or maybe Earworm. They hung from meat hooks in their backs, piercing through their chests along the dome of the capital building. At his right were Lisa and Marceline, or at least a distorted cloud that he felt WAS Marceline for lack of anything else to know her as, and the Bombshell Mannequin wasn't ready to give him the satisfaction of finding out for sure. They yo-yo'd off of ropes holding them sideways off the top of a skyscraper at the other end of downtown. Nico couldn't reach both groups. "No, stop, don't let everything just cloud together. Think clearly. Think straight! Just like Samedi said..." "No muttering, swine. Now pick. One. The other. Or Both, but we... We know the only way that'll happen!" Nico knew. It was the only way this would end non-lethally for anyone. He charged the fragile automaton in front of him, slamming his shoulder into its chest. As the robot fell to pieces all around him, he picked up its crown, His Crown, and placed it on his brow. 522. "Who are you?" Nico stared at the mirrored version of himself, the frostbitten man covered with art of letters turned backwards, the smile on his face looking wrong despite there being nothing wrong with it. Nico's heart panged with pain which shot out like lightning through the rest of his body. The reflection stepped forward, and Nico had to put his all into not backing down. "I come from the darkness, your blasphemous side, created by hatred and eyes in the sky!" The shadow in Nico's mind walked amongst the motley, seemingly invisible to them, or perhaps Nico was the invisible one as Lisa smiled at his other but couldn't hear him calling. "Stay away from them! What do you want!?" The creature gave Nico a hard right hook to the jaw. Nico spit away the blood as the monster slammed its knee into Nico's chin. "You. I want... you! After I beat you into a bloody pulp I'll live in your mind, and we'll get all our darkest desires. If someone stands in our way? Who cares? Obstacles are there to be knocked over! I'll do everything you're too weak to do, and take what you're to weak to take! Money, Power,.... Lisa. They'll be my pretty little diamonds, and woe to anyone who tries to take what belongs to the Ice King!" Wrath seethed through Nico's eyes. An ice-clad fist shattered the top of the shadow's skull, a second strike fracturing the monster's ribcage... or did it? Nico looked down and saw his reflection's tattoos read properly, it was his own which were backward. Had he slayed the dark beast, or had it already wrested control of his mind? Had it always been there? Nico felt the truth in his broken chest as the life faded from him, the Hedge surrounding his corpse closing in. 623. "Step away from him, Silver Bullets. This needn't concern you." The pagoda-styled carriage held aloft by four frostbitten eunichs hid the princess behind a woven screen made of icicles. Nico squinted to try and make out what she looked like to no avail. Other than a faint silhouette of a feminine form she was completely obfuscated. Snowman sentinels held his motley back despite their clamoring to get through. Nico's arms were bound behind his back. He was forced onto his knees when a nightstick made of ice struck the back of his legs, its owner a knight in diamond-dust armor. "You were such a fine vassal, Nico. Were. Looking back, I'd rather you have died along with that peasant girl of yours than you 'protect' us again with that damn crown you found. Fine lot that got you into, emptied face-first into the Hedge. The valiant knight an amnesiac who can't even comprehend his own failure." Nico was mad. He felt the ice on his wrist forming into the massive hand he could use to flatten that carriage with her inside. His cheeks flushed with Wrath, but then Samedi's wisdom echoed in his head. Stay calm. Don't respond with hostility. He began to take slow breaths. "I just don't know what to say, but I'll still try. I'm... I'm sorry Betty my Princess. I want to make this right. I'm so sorry. I'll never touch that crown again. I-I will serve you, if you'll have me. Please. Just like my friends go. I-I just want everything to get better again. I'm sorry, for everything I've done." Tears streamed from his eyes. It felt good to let go of the anger, but his entire body was still in pain. He knew his life was over. "Much better. Now to discuss my terms." A gullotine of frost fell from the ice storm above, silencing the Ice King in the Princess's Court forever. 436. Thomas Hope. Bill Howdy. Marceline. Lisa. Starla. Sadness. Pain. Terror. Basset. Merrow. Digory. Happiness. Failure. Unity. Ohrwurm. Liberty. Magister. CB. Kirchevskoy. Penance. Redemption. Inevitability. The Crown. The Slippers. The Staff. The Torch. Power. Corruption. Longevity. Petrikov. Ice King. Nico. Death. 211212. The Torn Page, The Restless Sleep Sitting in his frosty throne high above the bubbling, purple pitch of the Mantorok Pits, surrounded by blue spires of ice piercing the night sky above, the crystal sovereign Santak Antorbok looked upon the Kingdom of Ulyaoth and felt Sorrow in his soul. In the burnt remnants of a tenement building Santak Antorbok could see a wrinkled man with blue skin and snowy hair typing maddeningly on the keys of a rusted typewriter. Tinted spectacles and a full, unkempt beard concealed the damage to his face wrought by years of stress and strife. Shades of his tortured past were his only company; their constant wailing having robbed him decades of sleep. His tired fingers strained to give meaning to his existence as they clacked against the buttons. Dear Betty, I know you can hear me, feel me, but I must imprint these words on something more permanent than fleeting perception. I hope you're real. I need you to be. It's far more likely you're what remains of someone else's great loss, attaching yourself to me and conforming your form to my hazy history. It's just as likely you're a fragment of my soul that I lost within the Thorns before I woke up in them; your being just flickering memories and emotions given shape when you reconnected to your source. Or maybe you're the seed of some dark thing out there trying to prevent my progress, an illusion stuck on repeat. The most likely explanation is you're something else entirely: a liar. But I need you to be real. I've had so many wonderful people in my life. I have so many happy memories. But my story has always been a middle and an end. I need a beginning. I need you. I don't care if you hate me or if you love me. I don't care if you do both. I need you to be real. It's a selfish need. I know that. You are whoever and whatever you are and that shouldn't matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. Regardless of however benevolent or malevolent you are, you've taken some kind of interest in me and here we are. You've told me a story, a story you claim to be my beginning, and I need that beginning to be true. I don't know what I'll do if it isn't. The old man saw tears wet the page. Worry washed over his face as he hurriedly wiped the paper with a hankerchief, hoping the ink wouldn't blur. It did, only slightly. Every passing moment sees my mind slowly conforming to the image of me you have presented, a chain reaction manipulating every memory I have made. My life has context now. To lose that again would be to lose my self. I've always been able to make it without one because I had no choice, but I don't think I could take going back. My mind couldn't handle it. I need you to be real, Betty. Please. PLEASE. The old man's hands fell to his sides from exhaustion. He coughed and weezed as his body failed him, his head hitting the desk hard. He didn't move again. Sitting in his frosty throne high above the bubbling, purple pitch of the Mantorok Pits, surrounded by red spires of ice piercing the night sky above, the crystal sovereign Santak Bankorok looked upon the Kingdom of Chattur'gha and felt Wrath well up inside his chest. Within the halls of a palace of mirrors, Santak Bankorok saw a vagrant warlord with blue skin and snowy hair struggle to shatter the reflections of a red-faced witch. She cackled at him as the world around his feet cracked away to a black abyss. Deep in the down below her image was all he could see as anger filled his screams. Vile banshee! You laugh and you weep; your sneers pinning the blame of your own failings on the ones who outlasted you! You blame me for the workings of a world far from mortal control? The eyes of the Old Ones stare at our every movement. Meeting their unending gaze imparts centuries of madness, and yet you blame me when you force me to look? I did not bring us to this world of insanity. I did not choose to be transformed by it. I took what was forced upon me and I used it to keep us safe. You did not die while in my care. You died WITHOUT it! Who stands here now, strong and proud with breath in his chest? You spurn my choices but you perished by your own! While you seek to curse me with the Trials of Dumuzid your flacid claims of being Astarte will not fool me! Even now I shield you from the agony your spirit exists in. If I am to be held responsible for what the cogs of fate turned me into, I will hold you to the same standard! The spirit recoiled and screamed, her wail echoing in the warlord's ears until he dropped to his knees from the pain, the faux crown atop his head falling to the unseen ground beside him. Sitting in his frosty throne high above the bubbling, purple pitch of the Mantorok Pits, surrounded by green spires of ice piercing the night sky above, the crystal sovereign Santak Narokath looked upon the Kingdom of Xel'lotath and felt Desire and Fear plague his thoughts. Words and sounds fluttered around Santak Narokath's head before flying to the stage before him, congealing into a variety show of nightmares. At the center of the action was a peach-skinned man with short, curly brown hair. He wore a green sweater-vest with an off-white dress shirt underneath. His pupils were a matte red and his tongue was forked like a snake. He was a monster. The lights dimmed as a spotlight shone upon him. The play began. When the tense, fast-tempoed music started to play the monster was already kneeling down on one knee, his hand an iron grip on the soft digits of a young maiden whose red ringlets billowed in never-ending waves upon waves in an unfelt breeze, always perfectly shaped yet ever-moving. The sparse audience agreed she must be a goddess, or at least an angel. They all held hands and prayed this demon, this monster, would let her continue on her path, but monsters are seldom so kind. The monster held in his hand a single silver shackle, one he well knew would forever taint her future. Silver words flicked off his serpent's tongue, and the angel clasped the shackle onto her finger with a growing smile on her face, unaware of the evil creature's sour machinations. In the times that came, the angel thought she was happy. Her feelings were as real as any others, the monster made sure of that. She became comfortable in his nest of lies, just like the monster wanted her to. His schemes to take this angel's future as his own went perfectly according to plan. What he didn't plan for was the bigger picture. His nature was corroded, a vile humour in the world, but there are things far worse than he. Something older, fouler than he, claimed them both as its own. While most faced with such evil take the chance to repent, the monster saw the oppurtunity to use his nature to his advantage, and thus the angel was sacrificed so the monster could escape the awful fate he deserved and she did not. Her beautiful hair grew grey and decayed, flowing in waves no more; her corpse left to the old one as the monster made his getaway. However, the monster did not escape the old one unscathed. As the action shifted towards stage left it became clear to those watching the monster was soon to face the repercussions of his actions, but once again his rotten mind found a dastardly escape: he would forget. Forget everything: the angel, the old one, even the monster's own nature would be erased from his mind. But a monster is a monster through and through, and as the curtain closed and the lights cut out one by one the audience felt a chill run up their spines, for they could feel the monster hidden among them. Between the blue, red, and green spires of Soul, Body, and Mind, something bubbled up out of the boiling purple pitch of the Mantorok Pits. Three crystal sovereigns twisted and contorted uncomfortably in their thrones as they watched a stone effigy of a woman they mourned and feared, desired and hated, rise out of the lavender miasma and take its place at their center. None of them understood her, but all knew her power over them. For now, she was here to stay. The Thorn-Riddled Letter Dear Marceline, Woke up face down in the dirt amidst the Thorns today, mind addled with memory loss. Luckily I only lost two days this time, but it was an eventful two days, and loss is loss. A word to the wise: don't get bit by the Beast of Babylon regardless of what its Harlot says. Its teeth chomp down on your mind. I didn't even get any "cool guy" scars from it. I know that's a silly comment to make, but still, it would have been a nice beam of sunlight on a rainy day. Overall a completely negative experience. Your mother, or at least the thing claiming to be your mother, is gone now. Evidence points towards me figuring out she wasn't who she claimed to be during the two days and telling her to hit the road. I retraced my steps and didn't find her, so that stinks. The lot of us out here have been seeing a lot of things pretending to be other things, but I had hopes that this Betty was real and telling the truth. Either way, I found "the old me." The tattoos didn't lie, my name is Nicolas Petrikov, a band director from Austin Texas. I've got the name of the high school I used to work for and a Missing Persons report from when I was abducted. When I get back into town I'm going to contact APD through "Officer" Atwood to close the report and get as much of my old life back without causing too big a fuss. Maybe I should talk to the local Judge instead. I'm not exactly sure. I don't think I can afford a lawyer to help sort this all out. Mission accomplished, by the way. I'm on my way back to Austin. A buddy of mine went missing trying to find me, the Babylon Memory Bite set us back so long he came looking for me. He appears to be close to being on the way home, so hopefully he's somewhere we went on our way out. We saved a few extra people on our "heroic" quest. Two young girls beset by a maddened sorceress. It kind of felt like the sort of nonsense the Captain would have been used to dealing with. Heck, from reading about his taste in women, he probably would have flirted her away from the endangered kiddos. The old guy was apparently quite the charmer when it came to crazy psycho magic-infused death-machines. The girls now live at a freehold we encountered on the road. We had met a few of their members before, and they were honorable, kind, and welcoming. We checked in on them a few days later (a month for them, thanks to Hedge-time) and they're apparently fitting in nicely despite the change in scenery. I would have liked to bring them back to Austin instead, but the Hedge is far too dangerous for them in their current mental state, the poor girls. They have my phone number and I have theirs, so if things don't work out I'll save up for plane tickets. Who knows, by that time I may have a teaching job and still busk on the weekends. Not exactly the fastest way to get money, but it'd work. I still want to find you Marceline, whether you're my daughter or not. I just want to make contact, know you're okay, and then go from there. I hope I find you soon. -Nico Addendum, written after arrival back in Austin: I'm back home in Austin! We saved my friend who came looking for me, largely thanks to the Knight in our group's connections (He had dealt with the people in question multiple times before, apparently, and handled everything according to his code. It was nice being able to just sit back and follow directives and everything work out!) and I've reconnected with everyone around town! Overall, things are looking up! These Are Raindrops Dear Sydney, It's Nico. The Austin Police Department got me your address and my caseworker told me to write you before calling, to get the wording right. Marceline, Betty, and I were kidnapped. It seems so unreal. I wish I had an explanation that sounded more banal, but we were taken. I escaped and made it back to Austin about seven months ago, but the torture they put me through did a number on my brain. It's taken me this long to get to the point where the police could even help me find you, but I'm still missing large swaths of my memory. To tell you the truth, I don't even remember your face or what the rest of the family even looks like, and I still have some difficulties with memory in the day-to-day. More importantly, I don't know where Marceline is. We were separated when we tried to run. I've been trying to get even the smallest scrap of information as to what happened to her even since I came to, and I've given the very little I have to the police, and while it fills my chest with this crushing emptiness they told me to stay hopeful. Unfortunately the authorities found evidence that the group that kidnapped us recaptured Betty. It appears she didn't make it. I'm in a "victims of kidnapping" support group now. They've been really, well, supportive, and some of them used to live in San Francisco, near where you are. I'd like to get out there with their help to see you, unless you want to come here. I just want to see you! If we can arrange a meeting or something, you'd be making your long-lost brother so happy! Nico in the letter is an index card with Nico's contact information, including his phone number and an address and phone number for APD Dear Marceline Petrikov, It's your father, Nico. I've finally started putting all the pieces of my lost memories back together in my mind. I'm back in Austin again; I've sent word to your Aunt Sydney in San Francisco, and I've got what I need to start a legitimate search for you and your mother, Betty, just to make sure that you're out of danger. If you are avoiding me or don't want me trying to connect with you, I need to you tell me as soon as you can. I just want to know that you are safe. If you want anything more than that, even a little, I would love it, to be sure, but I don't want you to feel pressured into anything you're not comfortable with. We can even take it slow. I know I may never get my original memories back, but that doesn't matter as much anymore. As long as you are safe I will be happy. That's all I ask. Nico Petrikov The Story of the Original Letter Dear Marceline, I don't know who you are, but if this letter somehow finds itself to you, I'd really appreciate a formal introduction. I don't even know who I am, so with any luck we've already met. I'd love an introduction to whoever I am, too. ''-Hopefully Nico Petrikov'' It was nighttime in the Hedge, three tiny blue moons insufficiently eclipsing a much larger blood moon. The stars in the sky all looked down at a strange young man face first in the dirt in a circular clearing of the Thorns. A Thunderless storm raged off in the distance, the flash of its chains of lightning waking the man from his slumber. He groaned, the pain in his head weighing him down. The man's head felt blank. As his eyes slowly opened he could identify what he could see: the sharpened Thorns, the trod he laid in, goblin fruits dangling from gnarled trees. However, he could not identify himself. The Hedge felt his absense of self, and in turn unknew him, refusing to acknowledge his presence within its infinite twists and turns. The rain reached him as the dirt he laid in became mud. Pushing up off the ground, his eyes met the skin on his arms exposed from the rolled up sleeves of his suit jacket and button-down. Words floated around on his forearms, seemingly to avoid the droplets of water as they crashed softly against him. Shocked at the sight for a moment, he clawed and scurried across the soaked earth to the safety beneath the branches of a nearby tree. There, in the light of the storm, he read his story for what he believed was the first time. His name was Nico Petrikov, or at least it was according to the tattoo on his chest. He didn't really believe the mysterious floating words, not at first, but he had nothing else to believe, and so he gradually accepted the idea. The only others in his story were his ward, Marceline, and the princess they served named Betty. A terrible crown had corrupted him as he sought to perform his "knightly" duties, or something along those lines. He wished whoever had put this strange ink into his skin had been a bit more clear, until he found the makeshift needle made from an exacto-knife and what appeared to be bullet casings and realized he had done these himself. The crown's power was obvious: Nico had gone insane while in its grasp. But now he was free, free and alone. Nico wept, and the Hedge wept for him, the Thunderless storm of fire and light passing him by. "So, uh, how much you think I can get for this? It's a pretty baller headpiece, if I do say so myself, and if the rumors are true this puppy is a hot ticket item!" The crown dangled from the end of the bindlestiff held out for the merchant to see. "Not like you to pass up on the shinies, thief. What has you in the selling mood?" The pale merchant tapped his long fingernails in quick succession on the crown pointed right in his face. "Eh, I'm more of a renaissance kinda guy. You know, fine art. Crowns like this just ain't my style. Too, uh, trench-y for my tastes. Found this on some dead guy face down in the dirt. Hedge prolly swallowed his corpse up by now, so no one's gonna come looking." The thief wasn't much of a charmer, at least not when attractive women were absent from his surroundings. The four-foot tall hairless merchant with eyes constantly squeezed shut didn't qualify. "You're right, thief, which is why this hobo-chic stick of yours hardly fits in the picture. Explain," the merchant said with a sinister grin, "or the deal is off." "You know trench art, man. S'greasy. I don't want none of that getting on my mitts, s'all." The thief couldn't look the merchant in the eyes, not that it made much difference. "What did it say to you when you grasped it? What scared you so much you can't bring yourself to touch it anymore?" "Look, I've got a fence over in Carpus who I bet would love to take this off my hands, so make me an offer or I'm about to bounce." "Fine, thief. You have your pick of my store." Lost, they called themselves. Nico mused over it so he would remember. Token was what the crown was, and tokens were items of power bought and sold at goblin merchants. He had found his way to a small hunting outpost, the beautiful people there more than helpful. Among them were hulking montrosities, horned and maddened, who they warned Nico to avoid. They told him he couldn't stay long, or they may become monsters themselves, so they pointed him in the direction of a traveling marketplace where he might find his crown. With the crown back he could reclaim himself, or at least destroy it. He hated seeing the townsfolk and their families, lives of happiness filled with memories of one another. He was an outsider, the strange man who didn't know himself. He wished he could find someone who could empathize with his condition, but at the same time wanted no one to share his fate. The crown had to be stopped, but Nico held onto hope that it could give back what it took away. When he arrived at the marketplace he gained a small lead: someone had come this way trying to sell the crown but didn't find a buyer, so they headed off to the next major settlement nearby. Nico's stomach growled as he watched a sewn-together rabbit doll take the last crate of food from a local farmer's daughter as "interest" on their debt to him, despite the family's pleading against their own starvation. Nico grimaced and began to plot to get him and the family the food they needed, though he reminded himself to be careful of not making a habit of stealing. "YOU! STAY BACK!" The merchant with the closed eyes pulled a crystal-tipped staff from beneath his counter and pointed it at the man before him. Bolts of black and purple pitch streamed forth from it, but they passed right through his flinching "customer". "HOW... did you do that?" The merchant's face looked shocked, although his eyes did not move. Nico spoke. "It's something I've always done, at least since I have memories. I just... forget, and things just pass right through me... or me through things." "Well... stay back! I'll... what do you want? I don't have it! I never did, anymore! I'LL SHOOT AGAIN!" Another bolt ripped apart the front wall of the shop, reducing it to immolated sludge. "WHOA! Calm down! I just want to know where my crown is! The Harlequins of the Dark Djinn sold me your location for all the hair on my body after this merchant named Bruce from the Junkyard Market in Marauder Town told me you had bought it recently! C'mon man, the Mind of the Sleeping Wind is not an easy island to get to! Please! I'm not here to hurt you!" The merchant lowered his staff, but kept it pointed in Nico's direction. "Dude, please! Those harlequins took my hair one at a time, and they weren't gentle! Help me out!" Nico was desperate, and chose to look so. He had a good feeling the slimey shopkeeper would take the bait. Nico kept quiet about having found the merchant's name in Junktown Bruce's store manifest, which Nico had pilfered after sneaking past and disarming Bruce's elaborate wards using his wits and the keyring he had stolen off of one of the market's guards, some old green coot leaning on a staff modestly similar to the one pointed at him right now. "Fine. What do you have to offer? I don't need some half-brained meat-puppet of that damn crown melting down my store or trapping me in some death-snowglobe. You look more like you'd do the latter, to be curt." Nico didn't have anything he was willing to part with. He'd just paid a young songstress on the island to get his suit repaired in exchange for some musical oddments, and he doubted goblin fruits would pay for information from this man, but the merchant had already shown his cards. He was scared of the icy amnesiac in front of him, and Nico felt no qualms about taking advantage. Nico felt the ring in his pocket, the strange signet of a feral cat and the name of his princess, Betty, engraved on the inside. The ring was battered and worn, even cut in some places, but despite its wear it still shined. In the same pocket he kept the pair of glasses he had found there when he first searched his person that night in the rain of the Hedge. He couldn't give these up, but he had known that before coming here. "Here's what I want: a map leading me as close to my crown as you are capable of, using whatever resources, connections, contracts, and tokens you have available for yourself. Then I'll make you an offer." The merchant whinced, as if expecting Nico to attack him for not immediately conjuring the map Nico requested. "I'll be back in the morning to pick it up. Have it done before you close down shop tonight." The merchant flinched again, but when he looked up Nico was gone. When he opened up shop the next morning, expecting the crown's "puppet" to be there waiting for him, the map he had created was gone as well. "CURSES! That THIEF got me to make him a map and we never SHOOK on IT!" Nico held tightly onto the mast of the raft he'd stolen from the young songstress' absentee father she'd conjured for herself out of dreamstuff. He told himself he must be calloused to thievery by now to feel no remorse for his actions, although he noted the raft originally belonged to a man who technically didn't exist outside of a starry-eyed orphan's imagination. He shrugged. He had what he needed, and soon the crown would be his, or so he thought. Bubbling flames filled the sky, squalls of bitter air crashed against the cliffside, and yet all was dark. The fire above illuminated less than a matchstick, making the once-and-future Ice King breathe a little easier as he climbed, map clutched in his teeth. Reaching the top, Nico strained his neck as he looked upon the mansion overlooking the sea he had rowed across. A mechanical arm three times too big for his body, sculpted of ice, grinded its pistons silently, armoring Nico's right arm and giving the frail magician the strength he needed to get him this far. From here on out it wouldn't be enough. Phasing through the wall, Nico found himself in a corridor filled with doors, each labelled with bizzare commands. Some read "Tap door almost as fast as you can for twenty-four seconds, but do not touch knob", others having things such as "Boiled Chicken, Turpentine, Yellow Flowers, Pull Left". The few which were unlocked were left ajar, though the majority of them contained nothing but a plain baseball mitt displayed on a pedestal. Nico followed the map of the house carefully. He took the corridor he entered to the front foyer of the house, where massive paintings and statues lined the walls. To the side he could see a study filled with maps and cartography supplies. The rumors about the mansion's keeper appeared to be true. Nico climbed the shallow stairs to the median floor, passing through a dining room stretching across three miles. The house was silent, but so was he. As he reached the room marked "X" on his map, he opened the door to find three pedestals. The one on his left held a silver buckler with a mirrored surface. When Nico's glance fell on it, his reflection twisted into a monstrous version of himself. The image of Nico had his skull exposed through the left side of face, his body taking on a sinister glow as his flesh bubbled with tumors. Nico ran a hand over himself to make sure it wasn't actually happening, and breathed a sigh of relief. The pedestal on his right held a crystalline monkey sitting on its hind legs. It's head twisted to meet Nico's glance, causing the burglar to snap back to attention. The map said his marque was on the center pedestal... but it was empty. Nico ran up to it, beginning to feel around for a switch or compartment that might be hiding it. The pressure plate security system had not gone off, so Nico stood there confused, until he waved a hand over the pedestal and felt the subtley manipulated wind holding the plate down at just the right pressure. He'd been beaten here by a far superior thief. "Ahoy, friend. I see you found your way past the dogs out front, though I must admit I thought such a feat impossible. Spiking their dinner meat with grog, t'work of quite the criminal mastermind, if I do say so m'self. The master of the manse is out right now, so perhaps his fateful butler could be of service." A bald man with a thin beard down to his stomach and a patch over one eye appeared beside him, whose approach was masked by the sound of the wind outside. Nico jumped. The well-dressed servant continued. "Or be ye here to plunder something not belonging to ya?" Nico gulped. "I'm only here for what is mine!" He wished he could turn invisible, or at least change his face. Such was not the case, so he ran, ran as fast as he could across the massive dining room and down the shallow stairs, ramming himself straight into an armorclad Hedge Warden waiting for him outside the front door, whose contracts turning him invisible were dismissed a second later. "Nico Petrikov, you are under the arrest for the burglary of one enchanted crown belonging to the Endless Corsair. Hands behind your back." The man's hands went right through Nico's body, but the pencil thin yet overly muscular man didn't flinch, instead knodding to the woman beside him wearing the same uniform. Spectral hands formed of iridescent dust enveloped Nico's body, holding his arms at his sides. The "butler" caught up, now dressed in naval formalwear, placing a captain's hat on his head suddenly full with long black hair to match his now pillowy beard. "Ay, Wardens, if ye knew me manse were gonna get swanked, ya coulda tipped me off!" "Our apologies, Lord Corsair, but we worried notifying you of the tip we recieved would scare off our thief here." Tip?, Nico thought to himself, who could have... That's when he saw him, the hairless shopkeeper from the Mind of the Sleeping Wind, smiling from ear to pointed ear, standing twenty feet behind the Wardens. "Two pints of blood and we're even, crown puppet. Even." "Two pints? What-" and then the Warden's mace crashed into Nico's skull. "Ice King! ICE KING! Hey guys I think he's coming to!" A wooden humanoid with two rectangular chest cavities and the voice of a spritely woman stared into Nico's eyes as he opened them. Her unblinking stare was adjoined by a red desk lamp shining directly onto him, although it hopped way as he groaned. "Whuh? Who? Ice King?" It was all he could muster; his head was still ringing. "Ice King, cause you're the snow guy who tried to steal a crown! The other new girl, I mean, well she's a girl and you're a guy... the other new inmate came up with it! Her name's Dagger and she's really nice!" A woman standing nearby wearing a witch's hat over a black-and-white striped tank top and bloomers smiled, if only slightly. As Nico's eyes adjusted to the light he saw he was wearing the same outfit, minus the headpiece. "Inmate Petrikov, it's good to see you back awake in the land of Thorns." A guard whose face looked raw and shiny, as if glazed after being badly burnt tapped a nightstick against the bars. He wore the uniform of a New York Policeman, if the badge sewn to it was to be believed. "C'mon, Bookcase, get away from the new admits. You know the rules." "Sorry!" the wooden creature responded, "I'm needed back in Metalworks anyway!" She grabbed a worn leather jacket off of the bed Nico laid on before hustling out the door at the back of the cell. "Inmate Petrikov, as I was saying... Oh yeah! I'm Warden C.B., and I'm here to escort you to our visitation room. You have quite a few people waiting for you." Nico didn't understand anything Warden C.B. had said. He had been caught stealing, so he was glad he still had his hands, and the idea of a place where he could get regular meals for free sounded like an improvement over his old standard of living, but visitors? Who would visit him? He hoped he was dreaming, that he still stood in the mansion, hands about to grab the crown that should have been there. The woman named Dagger pinched his arm, hard. He glared at her, to which she calmly exhaled before saying, "You had the look of someone who thought they were dreaming. Curse me for trying to help!" Nico picked himself off the bunk, following C.B. closely. The other guards glared at the thief they caught redhanded, each gripping bracelets of ping-pong ball-sized red beads. C.B. looked back, noticing Nico's confusion. "Oh, we just got those in from our new armorer. We, uh, we got them for you. Let's us grab ghosty things if they try and get away. I wanted to get mine in tan, but, uh, they only come in one color." Nico's face soured. "So what did y'all do about the walls?" C.B. didn't respond, looking depressed by Nico's snide question. Nico could leave whenever he wanted; they hadn't found a way to keep him here. "Doesn't mean we wouldn't hunt you down, inmate." Nico's arresting officer appeared again, mist around him dispersing. Nico immediately noticed the staff strapped to the officer's back; it was the same one the merchant had aimed at him when he was acquiring his map. "You're ours until you tell us where you stashed the crown, and a little while after." Nico's voice became sharp, his stare piercing the officer visibly. "Let me make this clear officer. I stole no crown. I wanted to, just like how I want to beat in your ribcage for accepting bribes and getting paid off to do Thornwatch's work for them. But I didn't. That crown belongs to me, and it will be mine, and since you obviously are so incompetent that you caught the thief that failed and not the thief who actually has my crown, I am more than happy enough to sit in a cell and eat your food and bide my time until you get your heads out of your asses long enough to find my crown for me." The officer felt his heart beat through his chest, the pricks of ice numbing the rest of his body. He had faced monsters the size of mountains with teeth that made ribbons out of the Wardens' toughest armor, but this tiny burglar with snowy hair and blue skin had chilled him, literally and figuratively, to the core. It took him a minute to come to, and by that time Warden C.B. was already laughing at him. "HAHAHA! The look on your FACE Krichevskoy! Nice one Petrikov! I like you!" C.B. chuckled the whole way to visitation. One at a time they came to him: everyone Nico had ever stolen from. The Merchant of Sleeping Wind had exacted his vengeance by retracing Nico's steps, using Nico's own verbal biography as a guide. On top of that he had paid the Hedge Wardens a hefty sum of armnaments to retrieve the crown from Nico. The Endless Corsair is a collector of tokens fueled with fate, and the merchant knows he'll have the Corsair in his pocket should his investment in the Wardens succeed. Each of Nico's visitors wanted the same thing: payment for what he stole in exchange for their silence to the Wardens about his auxiliary thefts. Nico told Junktown Bruce where he had hidden the manifest, which was right where he found it in Bruce's office. Nico had had no need to take the massive tome with him. To appease Bruce a song was asked of him. For lack of music Nico used his tattoos as lyrics in a fit of desperation. It came out awkwardly and far from the sensical order he now uses when he sings them, but Bruce clapped and giggled loudly. The girl and her dreamstuff father wanted a friend, and so Nico told the girl the story of his life, so that she may weave herself a friend out of his memory. He left out the thievery and his arrest, which the girl noted, telling him he would make a perfect friend if he left those things out too. The raggedy rabbit doll who took the food from the poor farmer's family forced Nico to eat some nasty dinner plates it had cooked as poorly as possible. Nico wasn't sure how this repaid the doll at all, but the doll said they were even, so Nico grinned and beared it. One of the Harlequins of the Dark Djinn represented their group. Nico was confused at her presence, since he hadn't stolen anything from them, but the woman insisted he had. When he asked, she told him he had stolen her heart, and as penance she would steal a kiss from him. Nico smiled until a few moments after she left smiling and giggling, when he remembered the Kiss of the Harlequin is poisonous. He spent his first month at jail in the medical wing. Nico snickered to himself. He'd come a long way. He looked down at the silver bracelet his future liege Iris had given him while in the infirmary. She'd been assigned there for work duty as a nurse. They always laughed about that placement: a saddistic warlord tasked with taking care of those she'd rather mourn the loss of, even if by her own hand. It was his first taste of the Winter Court, and Iris was a far better salesman than medic. She'd given him the bracelet to remind him that no matter how much you lose, including your freedom, it's better to have squandered it than never had it to begin with. "Whatcha thinking in that head of yours, Nico?" Two taps against his forehead followed. Nico snapped awake. He had forgotten where he was in his wave of nostalgia. Something about spending time with Ivy reminded him of being hopelessly imprisoned against his will. He told himself it was a fair feeling to have; he'd literally done the same to her. "Just remembering what little I can, Ivy. Now finish your cordon bleu before it gets cold." Category:Fiction